Broken Down So Low
by scarlettshazam
Summary: It takes them a year to find Cas after the angels fall, and he's been through more than any of them realize. Slowly but surely, Dean coaxes him to open up, and finds more than he knew he could along the way. Destiel oneshot.


**Soundtrack: Cry to Me – Heart **

After all the shit when down, they found Charlie before they found Cas.

Or rather, Charlie found them. As she tended to do. She carried few belongings: a Star Wars backpack containing an Xbox, and a duffel bag, containing slightly more necessary items – a few changes of clothes and her Harry Potter books. The rest, she said, was in storage.

And so they loaded her things into the trunk of the Impala and she loaded into empty backseat. Before they left they tried to convince Kevin to join them on the hunt for Cas. But he was angry, and at the moment wanted nothing to do with Dean or Sam, hospitable housing provided for him in the bunker aside.

"What made you wanna come along for the ride, sister?" Dean asked Charlie as he loaded her belongings into his beloved car.

"Change of pace, maybe," Charlie shrugged, and at the quirk of Dean's brow she amended, "I don't know – you guys – you're so infuriating, but…you're family, I guess."

"You guess?" Dean said.

"Shut up," she replied, and they dropped the subject after that.

Still, it was nice to have her along for the ride. Everybody that Sam and Dean touched they damaged, but scars aside Charlie had gusto in her and light in her eyes, and a willingness to help them find their fallen friend, wherever he went.

They tried the obvious places, first: familiar places, locations near the bunker, places that Cas had met them in more than one time.

These places stretched across at least a dozen states.

In between, they took jobs. Dean taught Charlie the hunting ropes at roadside diners and cheap motel rooms. She learned quickly, a point in her favor on the hunting front. She knew how to shoot already, and from her passion for video games came cat-like reflexes – if a little jumpy. But hey, she was good for a rookie. And she helped keep the peace between all three of them when times got rough.

Months passed. Two, three, four – until a year later they found themselves on the streets of New Mexico. They were working a job – a run-of-the-mill haunting at some old house some way out of the town.

Dean hadn't told Charlie or Sam that he also got a lead on a man that caused a disturbance in the street, declaring himself an angel fallen from Heaven and shouting at passersby that he just wanted to go home.

…but it didn't take long for Sam to figure him out, anyway.

"Dean, come on," he whispered harshly, yanking him out of the walkway and against a shop window filled with dream catchers and polished crystals. He muttered, "Look. I know you miss Cas – and believe me, I get it. I miss him too. But you can't keep this up. There are a million guys that think they were angels, and God only knows how many that actually are. Hell, I doubt there's only one Castiel running around at this point. You've gotta let this go. You're killing yourself."

"Did y'all just say something about a Castiel?"

Dean and Sam turned. Around the corner from the shop, a homeless man sat in the adjacent alley, t-shirt stained and brown skin weathered with sun damage and early wrinkles.

"What, you know a Castiel?" Dean asked. He advanced on the man, and out of habit, wrapped his fingers around the handle of the knife in the pocket of his jeans.

"Shit, sure I do," replied the man, "Got one up at the shelter, whole bag o' crazy, that one. He thinks he's an angel of the lord or some shit like that, or maybe that he ain't an angel no more, never can remember. Decent guy, but fucked in the head, you know. Don't know which way's up."

Sam and Dean exchanged a look and then glanced behind to where Charlie stood with her arms folded and red braids resting on her shoulders.

Dean said, "You'd better not be fuckin' with us."

Sam holds a hand out to stop Dean and went on, "Where's this shelter?"

"Alarid Street, impossible to miss," he replied, "Hey, I hope he's your Castiel. Guy needs some folks, you know?"

Dean tried not to allow himself to hope. How many times had he hoped before? But never during any of those times had anyone ever recognized the name _Castiel_. He didn't want Sammy to see the look on his face – to know what he was thinking. So Dean turned and gritted his teeth. He supplied nothing but a gruff, "Let's go," before taking off back toward the street where he'd parked the Impala.

The shelter was a swank place as far as homeless shelters went. It looked well-kept and loved. The trio headed up the walk to the men's section of the shelter. At the front desk sat a man in a plaid button-up and silver and turquoise bolo tie, a white cowboy hat perched on top of his head. When he spoke, his salt-and-pepper mustache bounced, "Can I help you with somethin'?"

"Uh," Sam started, before Dean could butt in, "We're looking for a Castiel. We heard he might be living here and…he's family."

The desk attendant eyed them.

"Might be that we got a guy running around here with that name," he agreed, "But who are you?"

"The Winchesters," Sam answered, "Sam and Dean and Charlie." Dean glanced at him sharply at this, at their real names – mostly, anyway.

But the desk attendant whistled, "Well, I'll be damned. Why don't you follow me? Castiel likes to be alone most a' the time. That his real name?"

"Yeah," Sam said, "but we call him Cas, mostly."

The desk attendant introduced himself as Bill after that, and led them through a door and into a hallway. Most of the doors that lined the walls were ajar, revealing dorm-like bedrooms and a handful of men, both young and old. One door at the far end was closed, and this was the door that Bill knocked on.

"Mr. Winchester," he said.

All three hunters look at one another at this.

"_I am reading_."

Dean lost all semblance of himself at the sound of the gravelly voice beyond the door. The familiar voice, the perfect voice – the voice that belonged to Cas.

"Cas!" he shouted, and pushed in front of Bill to bang on the door, "Cas, it's us. It's Sammy and Dean and Charlie, too. Open the fuckin' door."

An instant later the door swung open.

Cas.

He looked different.

He looked tired, older, rougher around the edges, and like he hadn't shaved in the entire past year. His clothes were borrowed, a gray t-shirt and ill-fitting jeans, and a stained jacket. In his hand he held a book with a heavily creased spine.

"Where the fresh fuckin' hell have you been, Cas?" demanded Dean, "We were worried, goddamnit."

"I have been in New Mexico," Castiel answered.

"I know that, numbskull," Dean said, relieved and furious all at once at Cas' reply, "Why didn't you come home? Why didn't you find us? We've been looking everywhere for you, man."

"Oh," Cas said to this, "Well, I wasn't…I didn't know quite where I was, at first. And I was angry, and confused…" he glanced over to Bill, and like that Dean realized that Cas couldn't discuss the full extent of what occurred with the desk attendant there, witnessing the entire conversation, "I could not find you like I used to. And also I injured a man and I was incarcerated."

"You were in the slammer?" Dean demanded.

"For a handful of months, yes," Cas confirmed, "and now I am here."

"We're gonna take you home, dude," Dean assured him, and turned to Bill the desk attendant, "We can take him home, right?"

"He's gotta sign himself out, but if that's no issue, then I think Mr. Winchester's going home with his brothers," Bill brightly replied.

**X**

Dean waited until they all loaded inside the Impala before he turned around and snapped, "What the fuck, Cas?"

"Dean," Sam warned.

"I apologize for not contacting you," Cas said, "I didn't know how. I lost my grace and I – I can do so little as a human. I am much slower. And angrier. And hungrier." And much more than that, if the age in Cas' face was any indication. More than age there was sorrow, unmasked and clear in his light eyes. Dean knew that sorrow well. The loss, and the utter hopelessness. But he didn't like seeing that when he looked at Cas.

If his own experience was any indication, now was the time to drop the subject. Dean turned back to the steering wheel and calmly said, "Let's hit that dive on the way outta town, and then it's off to the Batcave."

"What about the job?" asked Charlie.

"Fuck the job," replied Dean.

Neither Sam nor Charlie made a move to argue with them. They had their angel – fallen or otherwise – and that was the ultimate goal. Not a haunted house in Santa Fe, not demons, not even Crowley. The objective had been Castiel. And now that they had him…it would be back to home sweet home. The bunker.

From Santa Fe, the drive to the bunker was a little over ten hours. Short enough, Dean said, to make it in a day. He needed to bring Cas back home. He needed to show him safety, to show him they had his back. Dean couldn't understand why the fuck Cas kept wandering without looking for them – and jail? Fucking jail?

At least he was alive.

When the angels began to fall, Dean feared the worst. He feared that Castiel was dead. Kevin was convinced Cas was dead, Sam was skeptical, and though Charlie did her best to cheer Dean on in the hunt, he'd known all along that she too worried the angel was dead and gone.

At the diner on the edge of the city, Cas ate as though he'd never eaten before. He plowed through an entire jumbo-sized burger, two sides of fries and a chocolate milkshake, and managed somehow to still have room left for pie when Dean ordered a slice of cherry heaven. Sam and Charlie ate too, although much less than their counterparts.

"All right," Dean said, slapping cash down onto the booth's table, "Let's get this show on the road." Before they left, he had a waitress fill his travel mug with coffee. He knew that the drive would be exhausting, if only due to his own anxiousness to get Cas to the bunker. Somehow, in his mind, he figured that if they managed to get Cas into the Batcave, he wouldn't become lost again. It didn't make sense, maybe. But in his human state, Cas seemed more lost, more likely to stay put than he ever could as an angel.

The drive dragged on. The other three slept while Dean drove. He stopped only for gas. At the stations, they'd all break to use the bathroom and pick up snacks. At their first pit stop, Cas approached the counter with three bags of Cool Ranch Doritos, and explained that since becoming human that he'd acquired a taste for them.

The sun set and the road still stretched silently before the Impala, rolling on forever over deserts and winding through mountains. Dean loved this part, the quiet. In the backseat, Cas snored. On the radio, Lynyrd Skynyrd played. The stars trembled in the sky overhead. They shared the road with no one. It was just them – just Dean, really – driving them back home.

At one o'clock in the morning, Dean pulled the Impala in place outside of the bunker. Sam woke when the car halted, but Charlie and Cas needed to be shaken out of sleep. Dean closed his hand over Cas' shoulder and jarred him.

Cas jolted out of sleep. His blue eyes wide and searching, he sat up and backed up against the seat. In his eyes was fear – but when Dean snapped his fingers to get Cas' attention, it faded a little.

"Where are we going?" Cas asked, as they pulled what they needed from the trunk of the car.

"Home," Dean replied.

Cas didn't speak when they arrived inside the bunker. His eyes roamed over the lux interior, over the tables and books and elaborate furniture. When at last he spoke, he said, "This is quite impressive."

"Where should we put him?" Sam asked.

"Dunno, Cas, you wanna choose your room?" Dean asked.

Cas jerked out of a reverie and gave a curt nod. Charlie excused herself to sleep some real sleep, and the brothers led Castiel down the hall to the empty bedrooms. Kevin's lay at the end of the corridor. From underneath his door, lamplight shone, but since he hadn't emerged, Dean decided not to disturb him. The kid had to work on the tablet.

Dean cleared his throat to get Cas' attention and opened the first door on the right, "This one's pretty tight, but it's got a sweet bathroom. Marble and shit."

"Okay," Cas said.

"You want this one?" Sam said.

"It's fine," Cas nodded.

"You don't want to see any of the others?" asked Dean.

Cas shook his head, "I am sufficiently pleased with this one. Thank you."

"Uh, well," Dean went on, and scratched the back of his neck, "You get some sleep then, huh? Sammy's in this room," he pointed to the door directly across the hall, "and I'm in that one," Dean indicated to the bedroom one door to the left of Kevin's, "I'm gonna pass out for a while, okay?"

"Okay," was all that Cas replied.

Dean frowned, and surveyed Cas for a long second before glancing over his shoulder at his brother. At Sammy's shrug, Dean gave both Sam and Cas a curt nod, turned on his heel, and headed for his bedroom. Inside, he stripped off his clothes and padded into the adjoining bathroom – the best bathroom in the house, in his opinion. Another marble wonder. Pure lux.

Dean set out a crisp, lemon-scented towel on the counter before he stepped into the shower. God, he needed to scrub the road dirt off of his skin. More than that, though, he needed to get the slick of guilt and frustration over Cas out of his mind. When the spray of hot water hit his face, Dean prayed it would wash it all away.

It didn't, but at least when he emerged he felt less road-weary. He toweled himself dry and slipped into one of the soft robes of the Men of Letters. As usual, Dean unloaded a knife from his bag and tucked it under his pillow, just in case.

But as soon as his body hit the bed, Dean was dead to the world.

**X**

Dead to the world until about four in the morning, when he jerked awake with his bladder full and stomach empty. Cursing, Dean stumbled from his bed and to the toilet, where he let a rip before he ventured out into the kitchen for an early-morning snack. He tucked his knife into the pocket of the robe with one hand and rubbed the sleep out of his eyes with the other.

"Jesus H. _Christ_," he exclaimed when he reached the kitchen.

At the table sat Cas, shadows under his eyes dark as bruises but eyes as wide as a child's.

"You scared the fuckin' shit out of me, dude," Dean complained, "What are you doing awake at fuck-all in the morning?"

"You are also awake," Cas pointedly said.

"Answer the damn question, Cas," Dean growled.

"I dislike sleeping," he said.

"You slept in the car," replied Dean.

"I find that in this human body sometimes I cannot control myself," Cas said, "but I do not like to sleep."

Dean stood for a moment, studying the angel. He looked wrecked. Still in the same clothes they found him in at the shelter, still stony-faced and older. After a long sigh, Dean pulled out the chair beside Cas and sat down, "You need to…talk…or something?" He knew he hated when Sam asked him that same question, or anybody else, for that matter, but it seemed the situation called for it, in this case. If Cas didn't want to discuss it, he'd leave it alone and that would be that.

"I know they're not real," Cas reasoned.

"Huh?"

"The things I see. When I sleep. I have been told that many humans see things when they sleep and that they are not real," Cas replied, "but they are awful things and I still do not want to see them. So I don't sleep."

"You talking about nightmares?" asked Dean. At Cas' blank look, he clarified, "Bad dreams?"

"Yes, I think so," Cas confirmed.

"Everybody has bad dreams, dude," Dean assured him.

"They are awful regardless of whether or not humans…other humans suffer them too," Cas stiffly said to this.

Dean exhaled. After a moment of silence passed between them, he at last made an executive decision. He inclined his head toward the hallway of bedrooms and said, "C'mere, I think I know what might help." It was stupid. It was very stupid.

…But Cas like this – he was like a child. Like a fucking kid afraid of a thunderstorm.

Dean pulled him out of the kitchen and toward the bedrooms. Past the room that Cas had chosen, and to his, instead.

"Why are we in your bedroom?" asked Cas.

"Here," Dean said, and handed him another one of the robes, "Put on some goddamn pajamas. You can't sleep in those clothes. You smell like a roadhouse."

Without hesitation, Cas began to strip off his clothing, before Dean said, "No, not fucking here. The bathroom, man, the bathroom."

Cas obeyed, though when he emerged in the robe he said, "You still have not explained to me why I am in your bedroom."

"Uh," started Dean, "Okay. Look. Sometimes it helps to – I dunno, sleep with another person."

Cas' cocked his head and his brows swept together. He asked, "Are you propositioning me for sexual intercourse?"

"No!" Dean said, "I mean like sleeping next to another person. Like…they're there, and it makes sleeping easier. You dig?"

"Yes, I think I 'dig,'" he said back, "The presence of another human being is a remedy for bad dreams."

"Not always a remedy," Dean replied, "But if you wake up from a nightmare, and there's someone next to you, it feels better."

"I am uncertain about this," Castiel at last said.

Dean shrugged, "Yeah, and? You can't be certain until you try it." He sat on the edge of the mattress before pulling the lush comforter up over him. He looked to Cas and patted the spot next to him. Tension buzzed between them when Cas simply stood, unmoving, for several seconds.

But at last, he decided to slide into the bed alongside Dean. He kept a safe distance between them, but even in the dark Dean could see Cas' eyes droop with sleep. He needed the rest desperately. Before Cas could fall completely to sleep's clutches, however, Dean said, "Goodnight, Cas."

Cas lifted his head to look at Dean and then replied, "Goodnight, Dean."

**X**

Dean rolled awake at half-past eleven in the morning. He ran a comb through his hair and a stick of deodorant under his pits before he threw on an AC/DC t-shirt and some sturdy jeans. In his bed, Cas still slept soundly, both arms wrapped around his pillow, and knees up against his chest in a fetal position. Even asleep he looked better today than he did yesterday, and that left Dean with a distinct sense of relief.

The relief was enough to allow Dean to leave Cas alone and venture into the kitchen for breakfast. He never did get his snack last night, although perhaps that was for the best.

"Care to explain how Cas ended up in your bed?" Sam asked when Dean entered the kitchen, without lifting his eyes from his laptop screen.

Dean ignored the question and dove for the coffee pot first, pulling down a mug and yanking out a chair before he bothered to respond, "I woke up at like four AM, right? And I needed to take a piss n' get something to eat, and Cas was sitting in the kitchen and I ask him why the hell he was awake, and he says he has nightmares. So I let him sleep in my bed."

Sam only lifted a brow at this.

"Don't look at me like that, Sammy," Dean said, "I did it for you when you still wet the bed, and I'll do it for Cas if he needs it."

Sam lifted both brows in response.

Dean shook his head and said, "Whatever, man," before he nursed some of the hot, black coffee from the cup in his hands. It trickled down his throat with satisfying heat, and gave him enough of a boost to get up and throw together some eggs and bacon for himself.

After eating, energized and stomach full, Dean escaped from the kitchen and tread past the living room – where Charlie engaged Kevin in an intense-looking Mario Kart Battle on the television and Wii that she had shipped to them – before he went to check on Cas.

He wasn't in Dean's bed, but Dean heard the shower running from the bathroom.

He didn't know why, but his feet carried him to the bathroom. He shouldn't spy on Cas but against Dean's better judgment, he wanted to. It wasn't as though he'd never seen a naked dude before. Hell, without clothes, he was a naked dude. And with the rush of switching high schools so often, Dean had taken advantage of the situation and plowed through a hell of a lot of experimentation with a hell of a lot of different people, gender irrelevant.

But he still wanted to take a peek.

Through the marbled glass of the shower, Dean saw something unexpected: the dark, flowing lines of ink darting from Cas' shoulders to his ass. The detail wasn't visible through the shower, but the quantity was evident. Cas had a lot of fucking ink.

Dean stepped back away from the bathroom and sat on one of the armchairs arranged in his bedroom. He smeared his hands over his face and let out a huff of breath. Human Castiel was not the same as the angel he once knew, it seemed. Prison, tattoos, night terrors – but Cas didn't _feel_ different. He felt sadder, he felt angrier, but he didn't feel like a different person entirely.

"Hello Dean."

"Shit, man, would you put some goddamn clothes on? You're dripping all over the carpet," Dean complained.

"I did not know where you stored your towels," Cas said, "Should I redress in my old clothing?"

At that Dean stood and said, "No, of course not. I'll lend you something, dude."

But Cas' nudity afforded Dean a better look at the tattoos that looked only like smears through the haze of the shower's glass door. Enormous black wings folded in ink from Cas' shoulders down, and two serpents twisted down his arms whose tongues led down to a red apple on each wrist. Over his heart he had the same anti-possession tattoo as Dean.

"You into tattoos now, I guess?" Dean asked casually, as he sifted through his clothes for something to lend out. A clean pair of boxers, a black t-shirt, some jeans that were a little too long in the leg for him. He tossed them over at Cas, who made efficient work of pulling them onto his body.

"I find the concept of tattooing fascinating," Cas said back, just as all the ink disappeared behind the dark cotton of Dean's t-shirt, "They are mostly pictures, but they tell entire stories."

"Yours got stories?"

"Many of them, yes."

"Care to share?"

"Not particularly, no."

"Allrighty then," Dean said, and ran his fingers through his hair, "I'm thinking you need to shave. You look like a caveman."

"Do I?" Cas asked, and reached up to touch the thick beard on his jaw, "I do not know how to shave."

"I'll teach you," Dean sighed, "C'mon." He led Cas back into the bathroom and wiped some of the steam on the mirror away with his hand. From the cabinet mounted on the wall, Dean removed the plastic package of several disposable razors, removed the covering on one, and handed it to Cas. Cas held it in his fist and stared at it.

"Here, like this," Dean corrected his grip.

"Okay," Cas said, "Now what?"

Dean retrieved his shaving cream and showed Cas how to apply it. He shaved his own stubble in careful strokes, but instructed Cas to use a bit of toilet paper to cover anyplace that he nicked.

Cas was covered in an awful lot of bits of toilet paper by the time that his beard was gone. He looked younger without it, and much more like himself. It sparked a pull in Dean's gut, an awful emotion, a familiar emotion. It was attraction. He'd felt it before in regards to Castiel, and then he'd thought that perhaps the attraction had to do with angel mojo.

But Cas didn't have angel mojo anymore. Cas was as human as Dean.

"Why are you staring at me?" Cas asked.

Dean licked his lips and replied, "Nothin'. You did a pretty shit job at shaving."

"It was my first experience shaving," Cas defended, "I will attempt to do better next time."

That made Dean feel like an asshole. He sighed and said, "C'mon, I'll cook up some breakfast for you. We can't have you starving on my watch."

Sam watched them both when they entered the kitchen, where he still sat surfing on his laptop. Dean barely had time to pull the frying pan out from where it was soaking in the sink before Sam said, "I think I found a job, dude. Get this – there's this town in Oregon that's been suffering from the spree of an apparent serial killer. The hitch? Their blood is gone. Completely drained."

Dean replied, "Sounds good. Are you gonna be cool here with Kevin, Cas?"

"Am I not allowed to come?" Cas asked.

"You gotta get back on your feet," Dean told him, "Besides, you don't know how to hunt. I'll teach you to shoot when I get back."

"Can't I just use my sword?" Cas queried.

"You can use a gun _and_ a sword, that's the beauty of it," Dean said, "I'll make you some breakfast and then me n' Sammy and Charlie are gonna hit the road. You behave while we're gone, okay?" He winked, and at the gesture Cas cocked his head to the side, brows pushed together.

Dean had to tear his gaze away and back to the pan in his hand. He made Cas a mimic of his own breakfast of bacon and eggs before he trailed back to his bedroom to pack a duffel of weapons and supplies for the trip northwest. Just as he zipped the bag closed, he turned to see Cas in the doorway.

"Jesus," Dean exclaimed, "Quit doing that shit."

"What shit?" Cas said.

"Nevermind."

"I wanted to thank you for making me breakfast," Cas told him, "It was impressive."

"S'just bacon and eggs, dude, not rocket science," Dean said.

"Be that as it may, I felt you would want to know that your efforts were appreciated," Cas returned.

Dean didn't know what to say to that. So he settled on, "Uh…you're welcome, I guess."

Dean slung his belongings over his shoulder and walked with Cas beside him out to where Charlie and Sam already waited with their own things, Sam grim-faced and Charlie bright-eyed. Dean bumped Charlie's fist with his own before he turned back to Cas and Kevin.

He said, "Cas, don't mess with the stove, you hear me? Kevin, I want you keepin' one eye on him and the other eye on the angel tablet."

At this, Kevin rolled his eyes, but Dean figured that meant that he understood. With a final look, he walked out with Sam and Charlie at either of his sides. They tossed their belongings in the back of the Impala, Dean took the wheel, and they jetted off, westbound.

The drive was like any other, long and tiring and filled with short breaks to sleep and eat and gas the car. At one gas station, Sam took off to use the bathroom while Dean cleaned off the windows of the Impala. Charlie, meanwhile, leaned up against the side of the car and folded her arms. She said, "You seem a lot less straight than I thought you were."

Dean lifted his brows and shook his head. He'd be tempted to shut her down if it were anybody else, but instead he replied, "Yeah. Maybe. What's it to you, sister?"

"It's just interesting," she responded, a smile quirking up one side of her lips.

"It's irrelevant," Dean muttered.

"I'm not so sure," Charlie said, "Castiel seems pretty relevant to you, at least from where I'm standing."

Dean didn't answer her. He grit his teeth and gave her a warning stare instead.

"You do know," she began, swinging up to lean close to him, "that just because you ignore something, it doesn't go away, right? You and Sam are so bad about that."

"Maybe there's a reason for that," Dean snapped.

Thankfully, Sam returned, and so the conversation died there. When they climbed back into the Impala, none of them spoke, and Sam glanced between Dean and Charlie with an expression on his face that said he knew that something had happened. In true Winchester form, however, he did not address the issue. He let it be.

The job was a hive of vampires, but none so old that they knew their way around the block. They did every one of them in with ease and stayed in Oregon less than three days put together before they turned around and headed back for home in Kansas. Dean and Sam switched off driving. With Dean's arm roughed up from one of the stronger vampires that he engaged with, he was more tired than usual – and he fucking hated it. But he trusted Sammy with the Impala. He knew he knew how to take care of the old girl.

Dean was driving when at last they arrived at the Batcave. He elected to drive through the night, and though the rising sun shone through the Impala's windows, Charlie and Sam both slept like the dead. Sam's face had been sliced by the sharp nails of one of the female members of the family of vampires, but somehow Charlie made it out unscathed. No one could say she wasn't a quick learner.

Cas and Kevin being left alone had put him on edge more than he expected. Kevin on his own was one thing, but Kevin on fallen-angel-babysitting duty was definitely another.

But when Dean tossed the keys at Sam and told him to lock the car when he was done grabbing his and Charlie's things, and went down to the bunker, it was surprisingly quiet.

There was, however, an odor coming from the kitchen.

Dean dumped his duffel on the floor and rounded the corner into the kitchen. The stove was on, and an abandoned pan sat on the burner. It was burning, blackened. Looked like it might have been breakfast, but Dean couldn't say. He moved the pan to a cool burner and switched off the stove.

"Cas?" he called, "You leave shit on the stove?"

No one responded.

Dean stalked to the bedrooms, but when he swung open the door to the room that Castiel had selected, it looked completely untouched. The bed was made as though it had never been slept in, and the floor was clear of clutter. When Dean turned into the bathroom, not a single towel or bar of soap sat out of place.

Shit.

Had something happened?

"Cas? Cas!" he called again, "Where you at, man?"

Dean crossed back into the hallway.

The door to _his_ bedroom was ajar.

Dean swung inside and called, "Cas, you in here?"

No response, but in the silence following his call, he heard a soft shuffle echo from his bathroom. Dean went to investigate. He saw nothing initially, but heard another soft noise from behind the door to the toilet itself. Dean knocked, "Cas, that you, dude?"

"Please leave, Dean," Cas' gruff voice replied from the other end.

"I hate to break it to you, buddy, but you're in my bathroom," Dean said, "I'm coming in."

There, he found Cas crouched on the floor, crammed in between the toilet and the wall with his arms wrapped around his knees. He still wore the clothes that Dean had loaned him several days ago, and he was crying.

"Fuck me, you okay?" he asked, and stooped in front of him.

Cas swiped at his face and shook his head, "I can't stop this…this awful crying. But I am upset."

"Hey, it's okay, man. Sammy cries, and Kevin cries and Charlie cries. And shit, sometimes even I cry, okay? It's human," he assured him, "What's up?"

"I-I tried to make breakfast," Cas said, "Bacon and eggs, like you made for me. You said they were not difficult but I – I burned them. I am very bad at being human." At this, a fresh wave of quiet tears flood from his eyes and he growled out, "And I can't stop this – this _fucking crying._"

"Cas, dude," Dean said, "Everybody burns food. It was an accident, man." He rested his hand on Cas' shoulder and squeezed. When Cas didn't stop crying, his face crumpled as though he'd done something unforgivable, Dean settled down on the floor and pulled him closer. He said, "No worries, okay? I can teach you. Some things just take practice, that's all. And if you wanna learn bacon n' eggs, I'll teach you bacon n' eggs. But I'm thinkin' this mess isn't just 'cause you messed up breakfast."

Cas shuddered under Dean's touch and replied, "Perhaps…not. I have much weighing on my shoulders."

Dean merely lifted his brows.

It was enough to prompt Cas to confess, "I long for Heaven again. I long for my brothers and sisters. But I cannot return to Heaven and I will not see my brothers and sisters again. I destroyed…everything, Dean. I destroyed it all."

"Dude," was all that Dean could manage at first.

And God, if Dean had been impulsive before, he was being reckless now. He rested both palms on either side of Cas' face and wiped the silent tears back with the pads of his thumbs. He stared straight at him and said, "We'll get your mojo back, Cas. We'll get you home. And we will help your family. Do you understand me?"

Cas nodded.

"And while you're stuck here on earth, we're your family, you got that?" Dean went on, "We may not have wings or superpowers or understand God's word, but we make damn fine bacon n' eggs."

Cas nodded again. Without a word they stood together, and Dean pulled Cas into a brief hug by his shoulders. Cas' face was still red from crying, and Dean knew that Sam and Charlie would know the instant that they emerged from Dean's bedroom that something was wrong. But when they came out, Dean's arm wrapped around Cas' shoulder, Dean just shook his head.

They understood. Good families do.

Dean scrubbed the burned mess from the pan, and placed fresh ingredients on it to make breakfast. Cas hovered over him, and asked him to explain each step. Dean did, and even described his secrets for making them taste better than the average batch of scrambled eggs.

Dean watched Cas eat despite his exhaustion, and waited until his plate was clean to say, "Hey, I've gotta hit the hay, okay?"

"What hay?" asked Cas, "Why would you hit it?"

"It means I need some sleep," Dean explained.

"Can I come with you?" Cas asked.

Automatically, Dean glanced behind him to see if Sam or Charlie had heard Cas' request. Neither stood within sight, but that didn't mean that they were out of earshot. He asked, "Why do wanna sleep with me?" under his breath.

"Oh," Cas said, voice lowered, "I…haven't slept much since you left. I used your bed because the blanket had your scent and it was like – you were there, so I could pretend I had another human to help abate the nightmares. But it didn't function quite as well as your true presence."

At this Dean sighed and conceded, "All right. I guess. C'mon."

Dean closed the door behind them both, and stripped down out of his dirty clothes. In his underwear, he slipped under the covers. Cas asked, "Should I not wear a robe to sleep in?"

"Wear what you want," Dean mumbled.

Cas slid into the bed from the other side, dressed in the boxers borrowed from Dean.

"Have you been wearing those for days, buddy?" Dean asked.

"Kevin taught me to use the washing machine, so I washed them every day," Cas said, "if you are implying that it is unhygienic to wear the same clothing day after day."

"Hmm," was all that Dean said to this.

Cas seemed, despite the tears, better than before. Dean closed his eyes, but after a moment found himself watching the muscles shift underneath Cas' tattooed skin. The bed smelled more like Cas than it had when Dean left, much more. It smelled earthy and clean, and underlying it all was a scent strictly belonging to Castiel, something otherworldly, something good.

Dean fell asleep breathing in that smell.

He did not, however, sleep for long.

He felt Cas shift out of the bed, and still tired, he rolled over and tried to go back to sleep. But he heard Cas pacing the perimeter to the bedroom, making the floor creak with his weight. He muttered under his breath as he walked, and finally Dean opened his eyes and asked, "Cas, what the hell are you doing?"

"I thought you were asleep," Cas replied.

Dean shifted and sat up. He lifted his phone to check the time – only noon.

"I was," confirmed Dean, "You okay?"

"I am having a problem," Cas said, "with human emotions. Some of my emotions are urging me in one direction and the rest are pulling me in another. It is uncomfortable."

"Means you gotta make a choice, man," Dean said, "You gotta think about what will happen if you act on each of those things, and what thing you want to happen more."

"I see," Cas replied, "I think – I know what I must do, then."

"Cool," Dean said, and flopped back onto the bed.

"No, you can't sleep yet," Cas insisted, "I have something I have to say to you."

Dean sat back up, burning in his gut, "What is it, man?"

"You," Cas said, "These emotions. They're toward you? I'm feeling – affection. I think. I keep wanting to do human things with you. But I'm also feeling scared because I don't want you to dislike me. I know you prefer women and I am not a woman and…"

"Cas, buddy," Dean said, and stopped him. He swung his legs over the edge of the bed and went on, "S'all right. I'm not really – huh. I guess –" Words failed him, then. He guessed what? His entire chest was aflame at Cas' words. And Dean never had a way with speaking, anyway. He spoke with his actions, and so that's what he did: He forewent reason and he gripped Cas' hands. He pulled Cas forward, and he looped his arms around Cas' neck.

And he leaned up to kiss him.

Cas instantly fell into it. His tattooed arms circled around Dean's bare chest and his lips pressed hard.

When Dean pulled back, Cas babbled, "You scent is so pleasing and your face…and you…"

Dean just smiled.

"You too," he nodded.

**X**

Dean didn't like being as edgy as he was. After he and Cas kissed, he felt as though the rest of the bunker knew, that they could all see right through him and saw the weak spot inside him that said _Castiel_. They couldn't know, because hunters couldn't have weak spots. They had to be made out of steel, no flaw, and day by day and month by month and year by year Dean's steel heart had begun to rust, weak, red rusted holes and each with a name. _Sam. Charlie. Cas. Kevin. _Sometimes there were still holes where people once had been, people now dead.

Outside of his bedroom, he and Cas carried on as though nothing changed between them, when nothing could be further from the truth.

At night, Cas pretended to go to bed in his own room, and little more than an hour after lights-out, he snuck back to Dean's bed. Mostly, they kissed. That was what Cas liked and what made him comfortable, and Dean didn't want to freak him out.

Hell, Dean didn't want to freak himself out, either, but that was already a lost cause. He had vanquished demons, slaughtered vampires, exorcised ghosts, literally been to Hell and back and he had never been as tense as he was now.

He didn't know why – or maybe more accurately, he didn't _want_ to know why.

And he kept it that way. He pushed it all deep, deep down and into the back of his mind, filed away for a day when he wanted to sort out his shortcomings.

One Saturday a month into his and Cas'…whatever they were doing, Dean stepped into the shower for a snatch of time by himself. He didn't seem to see much of that these days, and maybe he did need to consider what the fuck he was doing. He liked to know what the hell he was doing, and he had no fucking clue this time around.

He hummed some Creedence to himself, and then sang lowly as he ran a bar of soap over the aching spaces on his body.

Cas was a weak spot.

Cas was also a man.

Did it bother him that Cas was a man?

He hadn't decided.

Maybe it was that he didn't want his family to turn their noses at him. Maybe…he didn't want to stop feeling safe. He didn't know what Sammy thought, and he was afraid to know. He knew Charlie knew – she was a smart fucking cookie – and furthermore he knew that she didn't care. But though he loved Charlie it wasn't the same as he loved Sam, and he didn't…he didn't want to ruin the strange peace that they'd been enjoying for months now.

Dean switched off the water and exhaled, standing for a few moments to gather himself before he stepped out.

"Jesus _fuck_, Cas," he breathed, when he saw him sitting right beside the shower on the marble side.

"You have a lovely singing voice, Dean," was all that Cas said.

"You can't just – do that," Dean groaned, "You can't sit outside the shower when people are in there."

"Why not?" asked Cas.

"Because, it's private," Dean insisted.

"Because you're unclothed?" Cas queried, "Because I have seen you without clothing several times now and I was under the impression that you didn't mind."

"I don't," Dean said. He didn't know how to explain that sometimes you just need to leave a guy to his thoughts, and not listen into him singing in the shower. He went on, "You can't listen to people sing in the shower."

Cas cocked his head and repeated his earlier question, "Why not?"

"Look, I'm pissed off and I just wanted time alone," Dean snapped. His voice rose much more than he meant it to, and Cas looked surprised.

Cas asked, "Would you like me to leave? I'm very sorry for intruding."

Dean waved him off and shook the moisture from his hair at the counter and rubbed a towel through it before he spoke. He said, "It's fine. I'm just on edge today."

Cas stood beside Dean. For a second he just surveyed him, and then he reached out to touch Dean's arm. He rubbed his fingers over the raised scar of his own handprint and asked, "Do you need a kiss? Charlie tells me sometimes people will kiss one another to heal them."

This made Dean laugh a little. He said back, "Yeah, sure. C'mere."

Cas hovered nearer and herded Dean into his arms. He gave Dean a tentative smile and brushed the tips of his fingers through the damp ends of Dean's hair before he leaned forward and covered Dean's mouth with his. He was getting better at kissing – he learned quickly and copied Dean when Dean tried something new. This time, Cas slid his tongue along Dean's lips first.

Dean's mouth opened automatically. His chest always constricted at this part, like his ribs shrunk inside him and squeezed everything underneath them until they burst. He coiled his arms around Cas' neck and squeezed his eyes shut and pretended that there was nothing else but this one moment. There was no Metatron or angel tablet. No prophet or missing angel mojo. No demons. It was just him, just him and Castiel, wrapped up in each other.

"Your arousal is poking my leg," Cas gruffly said.

Dean looked down and let out a soft laugh, "Sorry, man."

Cas had seen his dick before, it wasn't like it was new. And a couple nights ago he'd asked Dean if he could watch him get himself off, which was an experience, to say the least. But he'd never done anything beyond stare at Dean when he started to get horny.

"Would it be all right if I, uh, touched you?" asked Cas, his blue eyes flicking up from between Dean's legs to look into his eyes.

Dean's mouth went dry and his toes curled. His heart pounded out blood faster and faster. He licked his lips and swallowed the knot in his throat before he spoke, "Yeah. Please. Yeah, go for it."

Cas' thick fingers twitched before he moved his hand forward. His first touch was ginger, barely there. He ran the tips of his fingers down the shaft of Dean's dick experimentally. A shiver shuddered through Dean, and he leaned over to grip the counter. Cas wrapped his fingers around Dean then, testing his grip before he settled a looser hold, and moved his hand up and down, just once. And then again, and again, and again.

Dean let out a groan. He yanked Cas closer so that he could kiss his neck and stifle the noise. He didn't want to alert the rest of the Batcave to what they were doing. He just wanted to enjoy it.

Inside, he chanted over and over that right now it was just Dean and Cas, and no one else. Nothing else. Just them. Just his lips on Cas' skin, over the belly of an ink serpent, and Cas' strong fingers wrapped around him, working in clumsy but steady movements.

Dean came with a jolt onto Cas' hand. His breath came heavily and his heart slammed against his ribcage. He stammered, "Shit, dude, sorry."

"That's all right. It's a perfectly normal function of the human body," Cas assured him.

Dean laughed hoarsely.

Before he could move to clean them both up, Cas took a washcloth from the linen closet and wet it under the sink. He gave his hand a quick once-over before he took Dean's softening erection in his hand and cleaned come gently from the skin. When he finished, he looked up at Dean and asked, "Did I get it all?"

"Think so," Dean said.

It was only then that he noticed the strain in Cas' jeans. He swallowed to wet his throat and then asked, "Do you…want me to return the favor?"

"Do you want to?" asked Cas back.

"Yeah," Dean said, "Fuck yeah. But I wanna try something different. Is that okay?"

"Yes. I trust you," Cas replied.

The confession hit Dean with all the force of a high-speed train. Castiel trusted no one. Cas' family betrayed. Hell, Dean hadn't always done him good. But Cas trusted him. Cas trusted him despite everything he'd been through.

Dean took Cas' face and kissed him hard. He tried to put everything in that kiss, everything from the burning under his ribs to the satisfaction in his body and the appreciation in his mind. He kissed Cas with everything.

When Dean pulled back, Cas' lips turned upward in a hesitant smile.

Dean reached down and undid the fly of Cas' jeans. His jeans, really. But they looked better on Cas. With tender hands he shifted the jeans down. He took a moment to stare at the obvious erection in Cas' underwear before he worked those down, too.

And then Dean sank down to his knees in front of Cas. He didn't dive in right away. He kissed Cas' thighs first, and traced his fingertips over Cas' ass, holding him firmly against him, before he leaned forward and put his lips against the tip of Cas' cock. He tasted good and he tasted right, but that didn't stop Dean from being scared. He was scared to like something as much as he liked this.

But when Cas' hands found their way into his hair, threading through in soft touches, the doubt leaked away, just a little. Slowly, Dean eased his lips up around Cas. It'd been a long time since he'd done this, but hell, he'd always been good. He figured a few gap years between blow jobs wouldn't change that. Or even a few gap decades. Whatever.

Cas made a noise deep in his throat, a rumble of approval, and his grip tightened in Dean's hair the further that his mouth climbed up his cock. And then the moment of truth: He suppressed his gag reflex, and swallowed the rest of Cas down. Cas groaned. Dean would have smiled, or maybe told him to shut up, but being able to do neither, he just moved his mouth up and down, tongue pressed over teeth, fingers pressing into Cas' bare ass, and Cas' hands fisted in his hair.

Cas came within minutes, so surprised that he made a strangled noise that sounded like half-pleasure and half Dean's name. Dean pulled off and swallowed, and winked when he did.

"I see – I see why people are so fond of sexual intercourse," Cas panted.

Dean laughed again. He was laughing a lot with Cas, and the knowledge made his chest roar with pain. There had been so much hurt, so many wounds, and laughter seemed to make all those things vanish. Every blow, every disappointment, every death, every failure…when Cas made him laugh, fog swallowed the pain whole and it disappeared from his mind.

Dean pulled Cas' underthings and jeans back up onto his hips and fastened the fly.

"I…" Cas started, "I kind of didn't understand why, for quite some time. You…your human prisons are not pleasant places and I…"

Dean stopped dead in his tracks, "What?"

Cas didn't look Dean in the eye when he spoke. He said to the floor, "I didn't…didn't do well with my human emotions when I first fell. I mean. I still don't. But it was much worse in the beginning. I cried so much that it seemed like my eyes were on fire and I became so angry that I hurt people. That was how I was arrested and taken to prison."

"Cas," Dean gently said, "You don't have to talk about this if you don't want to."

"I don't," Cas replied, "but I still want you to know. I am making a decision about my opposing emotions based upon what I would like to occur."

Dean just nodded, and with that Cas continued.

"Being incarcerated was…" Castiel's voice wound down until it was barely more than a whisper, "the most terrible thing I have endured on Earth. I cried there too and it was ill-advised to do so. Some of the inmates. They, uh. Well. Suffice it to say I have been frightened of what might happen if you decided you wanted intercourse."

"Holy shit, Cas," Dean said.

"I fail to see in what possible way that fecal matter could be holy," Cas replied.

"It's a fucking expression. Shit. C'mere," Dean said, and pulled Cas into a hard hug. He breathed against the skin of Cas' neck and rubbed his palm over Cas' back, "Look, if I ever do anything you don't like, you fucking tell me, okay? I will never hurt you. You got that? _Never_."

Cas nodded and fell into the embrace.

He responded against Dean's skin, "I know that, Dean. You're a good man."

**X**

Dean knew that his brother knew that something had changed. Sam was no dummy, not even close. Sammy was probably the smartest person that he knew, but that didn't mean he was going to let him in on his business. Or Cas' business.

"Dean, come on," Sam said, "I'm not an idiot."

"I know you're not an idiot," Dean responded, and opened the fridge to retrieve a beer for himself and a glass of chocolate milk for Cas per his request, "But I'll tell you what you are. You're fucking annoying."

"I'm serious," Sam said.

"So am I."

"I have a right to know, man," Sam complained, "Cas is my family too, you know. You don't have angel monopoly or whatever shit you guys are doing."

Dean turned on his heel and braced himself on the kitchen table. He looked his brother dead in the eye and said, "Dude. I'm gonna tell you now. This is not your business. If Cas wants to let you in on anything, that's his deal, okay? Now, you find a job for us, or what?"

"Nothing so far," Sam sighed, clearly feeling it best to drop the subject, though Dean knew he wouldn't forget. He went on, "Actually, it's like eerily quiet everywhere. Wonder if something's brewing, you know. I don't like it when I can't find a job."

"Yeah, sounds like somebody's got something up their demonic sleeve, for sure," Dean nodded, "or angelic sleeve. Sheesh. A guy can't catch a break in this business." He didn't bother to wait for Sam's reply as soon as he poured the milk for Cas, and brought both beverages back to his bedroom.

Since Castiel's confession, the angel hadn't felt like being…out, really. He stayed in Dean's bedroom, and that was fine by Dean. That way, he could look after Cas and didn't have to worry. When he had nightmares, Dean could shake him awake and scoot over and wrap his arms around Cas until he lulled him back to sleep with his hand stroking over Cas' spine and reassurance that if anybody laid a finger on Cas now, he'd fuck 'em up.

"How you feeling?" Dean asked when he slipped into his room. He closed the door behind himself and locked it.

"I am wondering why Harry Potter won't listen to his friend with the name that I can't pronounce," Cas replied.

"Hermione?" suggested Dean, and he handed Cas his glass of milk.

"Thank you, Dean," Cas said, "This is my favorite beverage, you know."

Thankfully, Charlie had the good sense to leave her Harry Potter books in Dean's room. He knew she did it for Cas, and he appreciated it. Cas needed something to do, to take his mind off of all the bullshit that he'd been through before they found him in New Mexico. Dean made a decent occupation most of the time, but other days he needed to focus on the tablet, or a hunt, and couldn't give Cas as much time as he thought he should have.

"Dean," Cas said, as Dean cracked open his beer on the edge of his dresser.

"Mm?"

"If we were to be more intimate, what would that entail?" Cas asked.

Dean wheeled around, one brow cocked. He cleared his throat, "Uh. What are you talking here, exactly? Butt stuff?"

"If you're describing what I believe you are, yes," Cas said.

Dean tipped back his beer and scratched his neck before he answered, "Lube."

"What is that?"

"Makes things slippery," he told him, "Look, I know that – stuff kinda freaks you out. We don't have to do anything like that. Some dudes just don't, you know. Or," Dean paused to consider, "You could, uh. Be on top."

Cas tilted his head and asked, "You mean like –"

"Yeah."

"Are you certain that you want that?" Cas asked, incredulous.

"Dude," Dean replied, "Look. If you do it right, it feels good. But you gotta be patient, and you gotta be good to the person you're with. That's how it works. I could show you how it's done right whether or not I'm the one taking the dick, okay? But only if you are one hundred fucking percent sure that you want it, man."

"I think I do," Cas said, "I mean, I do."

"Cool," Dean said, "When do you want this to go down?"

"Uh," Cas hummed, "Now?"

Dean's brows shot straight up on his forehead and he queried, "Whoa, whoa. You sure? That went from zero to sixty, Cas, I just want to be sure."

"Yes," Cas said, "but I want you to, um. Be on the bottom. Like you said."

Dean nodded, and set his beer aside, knowing in a handful of minutes, it would be forgotten entirely. He pulled his t-shirt up over his head and cast it onto the carpet. He shuffled in his dresser to retrieve a covert purchase from a past run to the grocery store – a bottle of lubricant. He had a feeling it could come in handy. Thank Christ for foresight. Dean tossed this onto the sheets before he climbed up to join Cas on the bed.

"You look very nice without a shirt on," Cas said.

Dean chuckled, "You do too. How 'bout you get it off?"

Cas obeyed, lifting his t-shirt up and off. Dean crawled over him and leaned to kiss him, hard. Warmth radiated from his skin, and that hot, perfect, strange smell that belonged solely to Cas emanated with it. Instantly, Cas' arms wrapped around Dean's neck to pull him in closer, to kiss his scratchy jaw and press his fingers through Dean's short hair.

"You are hard and soft all at once and it is very pleasant," Cas said.

Dean's lips curled into a smile.

"You too," he said, and pressed kisses down from Cas' square jaw and throat to his collar bone. He kissed the anti-possession tattoo. While he kissed, his hand drifted down to Cas' jeans. He rubbed his hand over the front, and hid the smile on his face when Cas' erection immediately grew under his hand. Cas licked his lips and let out a soft puff of breath. Dean could see he was on edge, nervous about what they were doing. That was all right. He'd show him it was fine.

Sure, he hadn't done it in a while…but they'd been doing a lot of shit he hadn't done in a while.

Dean backed off to undo his belt. His jeans hit the floor with a clunk of denim, leather and metal, and his shorts followed shortly thereafter. He was already hard, too. Cas did that to him, got him hot and bothered without much effort at all. He leaned into Cas and kissed his abdomen, right over an intricate tribal tattoo whose story he had not yet been told.

There, he undid the fly of Cas' jeans and pulled them down, down, down before throwing them to the floor. He kissed where Cas' pelvic bones pressed up against his tan skin, and then removed the last of his clothing, leaving them both wholly nude.

Cas' eyes were wide. Dean placed his hand against Cas' cheek and stroked his thumb over his face before he ducked in to kiss Cas, a gentle kiss, a reassuring kiss. He'd love to kiss Cas hard and show him just what the build in his belly was doing, but he shoved that away – those kisses were for another time, not for when Cas was as nervous as he was.

Dean reached for the lube. He popped open the cap and spread a generous amount on his fingers. He said, "Hey, look at me. This is how it works when you're makin' a guy comfortable, okay?" and he slipped his fingers inside of himself, with a long exhale through his nostrils.

"Oh," Cas said, "Oh, wow."

Dean gave Cas a half-smile, an instant before he his prostate with his fingers. His lips fell open and he let out a helpless groan. Beneath him, Cas squirmed. Dean worked himself open with careful fingers, sighing at every one of his own touches. While he did, Cas' hands found their way into his hair again, and he pulled Dean down to kiss him.

"All right," Dean said, and withdrew his hand. He knocked open his bedside table and with shaking fingers drew out a condom packet, ripping it open with his teeth.

"What's that for?"

"Safe sex, dude," Dean replied, and rolled the condom gingerly over Cas' cock.

With that, Dean clambered up over him, held Cas' cock at the base, and slid slowly down on top of him with a long groan. It hurt more than Dean remembered, but he hadn't done this in a while. Below him Cas' mouth opened, and a soft noise of surprise tumbled out.

"This feels – very good," he whispered.

"Good," Dean said, and pulled his body up to slide down again.

He rode Cas in slow, deliberate movements, rolling his hips against him so Cas hit the sweet spot inside him with each movement.

And to both of their surprise, Cas flipped Dean onto his back. He stooped in and kissed him hard, nipping at his lip before he began to rock forward. The movement of his body was not as practiced as that of Dean's, but what he lacked in skill, he made up for in enthusiasm.

Sweat trickled down Cas' brow. An expression of pleasure fitted to his face, palms pressed into the mattress on either side of Dean's head, he thrust in and out of Dean. He seemed to mutter under his breath as he did, though Dean couldn't make out the words. He just tossed his head against the pillow and held onto Cas' shoulders, nails biting into his hot skin, into tattooed feathers.

Cas came quickly, as he was prone to – he was new to this, after all. He curled into Dean when he did, and buried his face in Dean's skin sunk his teeth into Dean's neck.

"Holy shit," Cas said.

"Holy shit," agreed Dean.

Cas noticed Dean's neglected erection then and looked up at Dean with an expression of guilt, "I'm so sorry. I forgot about you."

"No worries, man," Dean said, a hazy smile on his lips.

"I'm going to try that thing you do to me," Cas said.

"A blow job?"

"Yes," Cas confirmed.

When he pulled out of Dean, the cold invaded. Dean shivered and his toes curled. But no sooner did this happen than Cas covered Dean again. He placed each hand on Dean's thighs and parted his legs. He seemed to assess the situation. Cas' first move was one long, experimental lick up the shaft of Dean's dick.

Dean grunted in approval.

"Good?" Cas asked.

"Good," said Dean.

Cas took the head of Dean's erection into his mouth. His brows knit when he did. He remarked, "You taste strange."

"You don't have to suck me off, buddy," Dean replied on a soft laugh, "I can take care of myself."

"Be that as it may, I would like to be the one to take care of you in this case," Cas said back, and ducked down to do it again.

Cas wasn't graceful or practiced, but it was the best damn blow job Dean ever got. He looked perfect with his lips around Dean and his cheeks hollowed out. And when Cas' eyes flicked up to meet Dean's, Dean came on the end of a strangled cry.

Cas pulled off in surprise, and ended up with come across one cheek.

Dean howled with laughter.

"It isn't funny," Cas said, "I was taken aback by that."

Which naturally only made Dean laugh harder.

Resigned, Cas wiped what he could off of his cheek…and smeared it directly onto Dean's chest.

"Hey," Dean said, and flipped Cas onto his back, "Jerk."

"I am…paying it forward?" Cas guessed.

Dean chuckled again and pulled him down for another kiss. Cas tasted like _him_, and it was fucking incredible. He'd tasted it before, but on Cas' lips, the experience was different, wonderful, perfect, somehow.

"Dean," Cas said, when their laughter died down and his head was nestled on Dean's shoulder.

"Yeah?"

"I'm going to make a decision between conflicting emotions again," he said, "and tell you something."

A bloom of fear sprouted in Dean's stomach. He prayed that nothing else had happened to Cas in the meantime, in the space between when he fell and when he was found. He swallowed and nodded, "All right. Shoot."

"I believe I love you," Cas replied.

It was like he'd taken a bullet to the chest. He stared for a long while, looking at Cas' eyes. His half-wild, half-sated light eyes, so serious and earnest that it made Dean want to rip his own still-beating heart directly out of his chest.

But before he could think the words, "I love you, too," had fallen from his lips.

And it was true. It was so terribly, awfully, incredibly true. Cas – ah, God, Cas. A strange and childlike and untamed man, a creature Dean didn't think could possibly exist, turned human. A scared and brave man. The man that dragged him out of Hell. A man that had saved him and hurt him.

Castiel.

Dean wrapped his arms around Cas and held him close, as close as he could, not caring that they were sweating and sticky. He breathed in Cas' sent and closed his eyes and let it swallow him whole, that feeling, like his chest had opened up and his body was inside out and every nerve in his body was on fire – and he reveled in it all.

He loved Cas.

And Cas loved him.

It was the kind of moment that Winchesters didn't have. The moment that seemed as though it was on a page ripped out a storybook. But it was real.

They fell asleep there, tangled up in each other's limbs. When they woke, they showered together, cleaning each other's skin with a bar of ivory soap and running their hands through each other's limbs and over scars and tattoos alike.

And when they emerged, clean and redressed in a couple of pairs of Dean's pajamas, nobody questioned them. Cas parted to the kitchen to pour himself a glass of chocolate milk. Dean sat beside his brother on the sofa, where Sam was dicking around on his laptop and announced, "I love him, Sammy."

And Sam said, "I know you do, Dean."

And nothing had ever felt so right as it did then.


End file.
